The Crest of Blood

Whispers spread like wildfire, but no one dared to speak too loudly—not after what the young man had just said.

“She’s… my sister.”

The woman in the blue dress staggered back a step, her confident smile cracking. “That’s impossible,” she snapped, though her voice trembled. “Your family has no such child.”

The man rose slowly, still holding the silver crest in his hand. His name was Adrian Laurent—the heir to one of the most powerful families in the city. And that crest… it was unmistakable.

“Our crest is only given to direct blood heirs,” Adrian said, his voice cold and steady. “There are no replicas. No exceptions.”

The little girl clung to his sleeve, her tiny fingers shaking. “M-My mommy said… if I ever got lost, I should find the family with this symbol…”

Adrian’s chest tightened.

“How old are you?” he asked gently.

“Seven,” she whispered.

A ripple moved through the older guests—those who remembered.

Seven years ago… the scandal.

A hidden pregnancy. A woman who vanished. A child that was never acknowledged.

Adrian turned sharply toward his father, who stood near the stage, pale and silent.

“Father,” Adrian demanded, “what is this?”

The older man’s lips parted, but no words came.

And then—

The woman in blue shouted, “This is absurd! She’s lying! Someone planted her here to ruin this engagement!”

Her voice was too loud. Too desperate.

Adrian’s eyes narrowed.

“Search her,” the woman continued. “She’s probably stolen that crest!”

The little girl gasped, shrinking behind Adrian.

“No one touches her,” he said sharply.

Then, quietly, dangerously:

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“Unless you want to explain why you’re so afraid.”

For the first time that night, the woman had no answer.